Tamanous Of Tacoma





Mount Tacoma has always been a place of superstitious regard among the

Siwash (Sauvage) of the Northwest. In their myths it was the place of

refuge for the last man when the Whulge was so swollen after long rain

that its waters covered the earth. All other men were drowned. The waves

pursued the one man as he climbed, rising higher and higher until they

came to his knees, his waist, his breast. Hope was almost gone, and he

felt that the next wave would launch him into the black ocean that raged

about him, when one of the tamanouses of the peak, taking pity on him,

turned his feet to stone. The storm ceased, and the waters fell away. The

man still stood there, his feet a part of the peak, and he mourned that

he could not descend to where the air was balmy and the flowers were

opening. The Spirit of all Things came and bade him sleep, and, after his

eyes were closed, tore out one of his ribs and changed it to a woman.

When lifted out of the rock the man awoke, and, turning with delight to

the woman, he led her to the sea-shore, and there in a forest bower they

made their home. There the human race was recreated.



On the shore of the Whulge in after years lived an Indian miser--rare

personage--who dried salmon and jerked the meat that he did not use, and

sold it to his fellow-men for hiaqua--the wampum of the Pacific tribes.

The more of this treasure he got, the more he wanted--even as if it were

dollars. One day, while hunting on the slopes of Mount Tacoma, he looked

along its snow-fields, climbing to the sky, and, instead of doing homage

to the tamanous, or divinity of the mountain, he only sighed, If I could

only get more hiaqua!



Sounded a voice in his ear: Dare you go to my treasure caves?



I dare! cried the miser.



The rocks and snows and woods roared back the words so quick in echoes

that the noise was like that of a mountain laughing. The wind came up

again to whisper the secret in the man's ear, and with an elk-horn for

pick and spade he began the ascent of the peak. Next morning he had

reached the crater's rim, and, hurrying down the declivity, he passed a

rock shaped like a salmon, next, one in the form of a kamas-root, and

presently a third in likeness of an elk's head. 'Tis a tamanous has

spoken! he exclaimed, as he looked at them.



At the foot of the elk's head he began to dig. Under the snow he came to

crusts of rock that gave a hollow sound, and presently he lifted a scale

of stone that covered a cavity brimful of shells more beautiful, more

precious, more abundant than his wildest hopes had pictured. He plunged

his arms among them to the shoulder--he laughed and fondled them, winding

the strings of them about his arms and waist and neck and filling his

hands. Then, heavily burdened, he started homeward.



In his eagerness to take away his treasure he made no offerings of hiaqua

strings to the stone tamanouses in the crater, and hardly had he begun

the descent of the mountain's western face before he began to be buffeted

with winds. The angry god wrapped himself in a whirling tower of cloud

and fell upon him, drawing darkness after. Hands seemed to clutch at him

out of the storm: they tore at his treasure, and, in despair, he cast

away a cord of it in sacrifice. The storm paused for a moment, and when

it returned upon him with scream and flash and roar he parted with

another. So, going down in the lulls, he reached timber just as the last

handful of his wealth was wrenched from his grasp and flung upon the

winds. Sick in heart and body, he fell upon a moss-heap, senseless. He

awoke and arose stiffly, after a time, and resumed his journey.



In his sleep a change had come to the man. His hair was matted and

reached to his knees; his joints creaked; his food supply was gone; but

he picked kamas bulbs and broke his fast, and the world seemed fresh and

good to him. He looked back at Tacoma and admired the splendor of its

snows and the beauty of its form, and had never a care for the riches in

its crater. The wood was strange to him as he descended, but at sunset he

reached his wigwam, where an aged woman was cooking salmon. Wife and

husband recognized each other, though he had been asleep and she

a-sorrowing for years. In his joy to be at home the miser dug up all his

treasure that he had secreted and gave of his wealth and wisdom to whoso

needed them. Life, love, and nature were enough, he found, and he never

braved the tamanous again.





Tales The Gods And The Wolf Tau-wau-chee-hezkaw Or The White Feather facebooktwittergoogle_plusredditpinterestlinkedinmail

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